Hell is Yourself
by Cats070911
Summary: Institutionalised, Tommy tries to deal with his demons. Can he overcome his past and ever be happy again? A story about love, hate, alcoholism and the long, uncertain road towards redemption. This story ponders what might have happened if one seminal ILM scene had ended differently. It is rated M for content but does not contain graphic sex scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** all usual disclaimers apply.

I have always avoided writing stories that change the events from the series, but here I want to explore what might have happened if a particular scene had ended differently. So I have kept the scene verbatim but changed one key part for my purposes. I hope you don't mind. I should also say at this point, that while Helen 3 was quite personable and someone Tommy could easily love, I never recovered from the cold and surly Helen 2, and it is Helen 2 I have in mind for this story.

I am also writing in the first person as if it is Tommy's thoughts because the piece is an exploration of his feelings. For that reason, I have deliberately eschewed the Queen's grammar, as we do not usually think or speak in full, grammatically perfect sentences. We will see how that goes.

This story will not be to everyone's taste. That's fine. It has been running through my head since last Sep. I have perhaps gone beyond what the characters would have done, but I believe you never truly know until those circumstances arise. That said, I am, as always, interested in your feedback.

Oh, and if you think at the end of this chapter that you know what will happen, trust me, you don't, and you will need to read on.

* * *

I sat on the sandstone bench that overlooked the manicured lawns and ancient gardens of Hawthorne Manor. I tried to focus on the colours as a way of distracting my thoughts. Vivid yellow daffodils were just beginning to open in a bed under the oak tree. Mauve crocuses poked out from the curved garden around the fountain, and a faint scent of jasmine wafted up from the low hedge that partially obscured my view of the lake. Jasmine always reminded me of spring in Cornwall, and in the sun it was easy to close my eyes and imagine I was home, at Howenstowe.

I ached for a drink. It was beyond physical need. My soul cried out for peace. My mind wanted the jumble of painful memories to sink to the bottom of the mire of humiliation that filled my thoughts. After five days of detox, I knew a drink would make me ill, but I craved that first shot where I could still pretend that I appreciated the taste - the refined burn of a good single malt. But what I really desired was the escape. The detachment from the world. The floating feeling of that first rush where my mind stills as the nightmares recede and I have perhaps fifteen minutes of peace, like the eye of a typhoon. I know I would then drink just a little more and the world would spin again, backwards, faster and faster until I have to drink enough to pass out. Asleep I would dream. I would wake screaming but it would feel less real. The worst nightmares were always preferable to my thoughts.

My hands quivered, and I shoved them deep into my pockets. I had the urge to pace. It helped suppress the urges. So did screaming, but that would draw unwanted attention. The fog of three days on valium was just clearing. If I shouted and yelled and cursed the world, they would strap me back down and fill my veins with nothingness. Only it wasn't nothing. It calmed my body, confused my mind, but the hurt never goes. It lingers beneath my skin like boils waiting to break out. Even now, I'm afraid to scratch and release my demons.

"Lord Asherton."

I took a deep breath then turned to the voice. "Yes?"

"Doctor Clarkson asked me to find you. It's time for your session."

I smiled politely. Or as politely as I could manage. "Of course."

I stood and tightened the cord of my dressing gown then straightened the collar of my pyjamas. I was buying time. The nurse knew all the tricks so stood impassively waiting for me to collect myself. We walked in silence up the hill towards the surprisingly featureless Georgian manor.

Once the manor of Lord Maynard, the estate had been home to the Queen Adelaide Rehabilitation Centre for the last twenty years. Mother claimed it was a very discreet treatment centre, but at this point the last thing I cared about was my reputation. Peter had spent months here overcoming his addiction to heroin. It struck me as ironic that after years of dismissing him as being weak, I was now an inpatient myself, albeit an unwilling one.

I followed the nurse down the hall. "Red rum," I muttered to myself.

The nurse turned. "Pardon?"

"Sorry. Nothing. This... reminds me of the hallway in The Shining." The woman raised one eyebrow but said nothing. She turned and continued walking.

Dr Clarkson's office was in what had once been the library. Bookshelves full of dusty, leather-bound tomes still lined the walls. It was an imposing room, and no doubt selected to subliminally reinforce the impression of the doctor's knowledge and wisdom. Clarkson, a small rotund man, gave me a professional smile which was as inflated as his fees. "Tommy, how do you feel today?"

I shrugged. How do answer that? "Functioning."

"Sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

I sat in his leather chair. I had refused at our first meeting yesterday to lie on his couch. I knew what I was, why I was here, but I did not want to feel degraded by being treated like a fool. Lying down did not calm me. I did not feel at ease. It did not help my nightmares. In fact, I abhorred lying down. I liked to pace, or to sit by a fire with a fine single malt. They were the only times the tight band that constricted my mind eased at all. I stood and walked to the window.

"Would you like some water?"

I sighed. "Not unless it has scotch in it."

Clarkson laughed. It was as sycophantic as his smile. "Sorry, Tommy, you know the rules."

"Only too well."

I knew them alright. I had been here seven days. Seven long days. The first few were blurry. I remember sitting in the police cell after my arrest. Disturbing the peace and being intoxicated in a public place were not exactly on a par with murder, but everyone's reaction had been so extreme. Nobody had bothered with me when I had been drowning in alcohol in the privacy of my home but set one drunken foot in public, and they lock you away in a remote part of Devon that even Google Maps has trouble finding. My family had me committed under the Mental Health Act. I think Mother would prefer it if I was insane rather than just a drunk.

"Sit down, Tommy. We need to continue our conversation."

"Why? You'll still get the fee regardless of whether I say anything."

"I want to help you, Tommy. I want to assist you to unpack all your issues and repack them in a way that enables you to cope."

"I don't have any issues."

"Don't you? You don't think nearly a year and a half of profound alcoholism is an issue?"

"No. It helped me." It was a lie, but I hated being lectured. I knew I was on a path to self-destruction. I did not need to be told.

"Do you want to die, Tommy?"

"Do I want to die?" I collapsed into the chair and ran my fingers through my hair. That was one hell of an opening question. I avoided his face, but I could feel his beady little eyes on me. I had to give him an answer. "I don't know." At least that was truthful.

"Why not?"

Bloody hell. Stop probing me. I decided to take the philosophical approach. "I think there is a subtle distinction between wanting to die and not wanting to live. Most days I think I'm the latter. Occasionally, I might be the former. Today? Today I am undecided but I expect the next hour in here might push me towards the former. Rather rapidly."

Clarkson chuckled then sat in a Chesterfield about five feet from me. He adjusted his glasses then switched on his tape recorder and placed it on the mahogany coffee table that sat between us atop a hideous green Persian carpet. "You don't think our sessions help?"

"No, because to treat addiction, the addict has to want to stop. That was the mistake I made with Peter. I assumed every addict wanted to stop; that no one wanted a substance ruling their life. But I was wrong. It makes life so much easier. Your days become focussed. Where to I get my next drink? Is there enough reserve? Do I have access to a toilet and a place to pass out safely? Anything else is unnecessary thought."

"Only it doesn't stop the thoughts and memories does it? The ones that distress you?"

I exhaled slowly. "No. They're always there. They don't go, but sometimes they become background noise, sometimes they just sit there peacefully, but other times..."

"What happens then?"

"They tear me apart. I want to yell at them. I want to change them. I want to go back. I thought my life was empty then, but it was so full in comparison to now."

"Do you understand why?"

I stood and began to pace. "My life has no future, no meaning."

"Without her?"

I stopped at the window and closed my eyes. I could see her smiling at me. I smiled back. I wanted to pull her into my arms, but her face vanished, and I was alone.

"Tommy?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. What was the question?"

"You said your life had no meaning. I asked if you thought that way because she won't be part of it."

"Pathetic isn't it? Yes. I am not good at being alone."

"You have your family for support."

"They don't know me! Nobody really knows me."

"Even Lady Asherton?"

"Especially her. She. Had. Me. Sectioned. Do you know what that sort of betrayal feels like? Deep in here?" I poked my chest hard.

Clarkson sat looking pompously over the top of his glasses. "Have you thought about it from your mother's perspective?"

"Yes! She should have left me alone! I wasn't living with her. I needed to be alone. I needed to think it through not be locked away like I'm an embarrassment."

"She thought she was helping."

"She always thinks that but she is as selfish as the rest of her class. Barbara was right. We have a sense of entitlement and belief that we are better than anyone else. We're not. We can't even be honest with ourselves." I clenched my fists so tights that a jagged nail cut into my palm.

"Calm down, Tommy. Come back and have some water."

"I don't want water." I turned and moved across to look at the bookshelves on the far wall. "I did the same to Peter you know. Put him in here. Did he suffer like this?"

"Peter wanted to be helped. By the time he came to us, he was at rock bottom. He embraced it."

"I still think he hates me." I walked back towards Clarkson and leant against the desk that was beside the chair.

"Quite the opposite. Peter adored his older brother, but he hated what you did, how you made him feel. He was only seven, and he lost everyone. His father died, his brother ran away, and his mother lost herself in a new man. But he understands now that it hurt you too."

"Does he? I suppose one day I should talk to him."

"Yes, but right now I think it's time we talk through what happened that night."

"I think about it every day. I close my eyes, and it is there. It never leaves me. The sounds, the smells, the feel of gravel under my knees and blood seeping under my nails. It's the odd details that you'd never normally register that stay with you. They make it worse. People yelling... running... sirens... the ambulance... Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

"Are you a believer, Tommy?"

"Me? No. I'm not even Catholic. The paramedic was though; he said it in the ambulance. I think... I said it with him. I thought it might help. Silly really, but it stayed with me. Like a mantra."

"Like a prayer."

"A prayer to no one." I thumped into the chair.

"Tell me what happened. How you remember it."

I closed my eyes. "I watched it unfold in the full technicolour, slow-motion horror that is usually reserved for dreams. But this was not a dream. It was very, very real. And I see it on an endless loop."

"Where does it start?"

"With Helen wanting to help Nina Delic. Thinking she understood. Thinking she could do something. She rushed out after Nina. I should have waited until I knew Pavletic was out of the building before I told her.

"When Barbara rang me and told me she had proof, I had a premonition, but I didn't know what. I wanted to stop Pavletic before he left. I never thought Nina would be there. Winston and I raced through the door. Pavletic was next to the cab. Nina had a gun pointed at him. I felt sorry for her. Years of torment and rage boiled to the surface. She looked as if she was trapped between savage and frightening memories shrieking for revenge and what was right. I understood her anger but I thought she was going to lower the gun. Her hands were trembling..."

"It's okay, Tommy. Go on."

"Barbara's car screeched to a halt. She and Michael Wren were behind Pavletic. I tried to talk Nina into putting the gun down. We all did. Barbara, Winston, Helen. Pavletic was telling Nina he was not who she thought he was. Helen stepped between them. 'Don't ruin your life. He's going to gaol for the rest of his. Please.'. She was so certain she understood Nina. So certain she could talk her down even though the gun was pointed directly at her. It was brave, but she never believed Nina would shoot."

I raised my hands above my head then clamped my head between them as I lowered my face to my chest. My heart was thumping. Too fast. Too hard. I welcomed the thought of a heart attack to take me away from all of this pain.

"Tommy, have some water."

I took the glass from him. I sipped the water and screwed my nose up at its taste.

"I thought it worked," I said when I felt calmer. "I told Nina to put the gun on the ground. She was lowering the weapon. We all breathed out. A collective sigh. Then Pavletic couldn't help himself. 'No spine in Bosnians.' Helen turned to look at him.

Barbara saw it first. She somehow knew Nina would shoot. She could see what no one else did. She was good like that. She understood people. My intellect and her street smarts. We were a great team."

"Then it happened?"

"Yes. Nina fired." I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound, but you can't stop a noise that's already trapped inside your head.

"Tommy, this is good. What happened then?"

I looked across at him. He knew. Why was he making me tell him? "Barbara lunged at Helen. They both fell. I fell. The earth just gave way, and the three of us tumbled into the abyss. My legs wouldn't work. I was frozen as my mind recorded every detail. Heavy footsteps as people ran. Winston had Nina pinned, but she was staring at what she had done. Even Pavletic stopped laughing."

"Then?"

"Helen stood up. There was blood on her coat, and she looked at it in disgust. I'll never forget that look. I hated her for it. I hated her more than Nina. If she hadn't been so bloody-minded and foolish... but nothing could touch the mighty Helen."

"And Barbara?"

"Her eyes were open. She was looking at me. Only at me. I was looking at her. In the periphery all I could see was blood. Her blood. I had to get to her. I crawled, scrambling over the gravel. I scuffed my shoes. I noticed that later at the hospital. I pulled her into my arms. People were trying to help. I pushed my hand tight against her chest, over the wound. I had to stop the bleeding. 'Don't die, Barbara. Hang on.' I think she smiled. Her mouth barely moved but she knew I was there. I'm sure she did."

I stopped talking. I wanted to hit pause on my memories right there. It was the only spot of calm in the whole episode. A shared moment of understanding.

"Tommy, go on. You have to face this."

"Face it? I told you, it is all I see. Over and over and over."

"Tell me. What you saw. How you felt."

"They pulled me away when the paramedics arrived. They gave her something, an injection in her arm. Then a drip to replace fluid. The gurney had a squeaking wheel. As it bumped across the ground, it whined as if it objected. I hated that gurney. Barbara needed to get to the hospital, and it didn't want her to make it."

"You think that it is reasonable? Blaming the gurney?"

I shook my head. "No, not now, but at the time... I wasn't rational. This was Barbara. She'd been shot before, but this was far, far worse."

"Worse for her or you?"

I looked up at him. That was perceptive. "Both."

"Go on."

"They asked about next of kin. I remember Winston saying she had no one. I felt devastated hearing that. She had me. Someone had her wallet. Just as I thought she had me, one of the ambulance men called out 'Anyone know a Thomas Lynley? He's her next-of-kin.' It took a moment to register. 'I'm Lynley' I told him, and he took me back to her. They were loading her into the ambulance."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Confused in a way but it made sense. I was the closest to a family she had. We all carry In Case of Emergency cards. But I felt bad too because she saw me like family and I had let her down."

"How?"

"In so many ways. Perhaps because... Helen. I don't think Barbara approved of me getting back with Helen."

Clarkson chewed on the end of his glasses. "Did she say that?"

"No! Good lord, no. Barbara would never say anything. I just felt it."

"But Helen was your wife. Barbara must have understood you loved her."

"Who Helen? Did I? Maybe, maybe not. I thought I did when she came back. She seemed different. Softer. Kinder. But did I really love her? Yes, but not in the way I should have. I told Barbara once that I didn't know if I had ever loved Helen that way."

"What did Barbara say?"

"Something wise." I didn't want to tell him. That moment had been too precious. We lived for each other.

"So you got in the ambulance?"

"Yes. Helen tried to stop me. It was then I told her hated her for what she had done."

"What happened? Tell me exactly."

"Helen tried to take my hand. 'Tommy I need you. I was almost shot.' I looked at her and didn't know who she was. Not literally of course, but it was as if I had never known her. Barbara was dying, and she was only concerned about herself."

"What did you say?"

"I shook her off, but she persisted. So I told her I hated her."

"What exactly did you say, Tommy. It's important. It explains so much about what happened later."

"Something like, 'You are a selfish bitch, Helen. Barbara just saved your life, and now you want me to abandon her to comfort you. She's dying, and I won't let her die alone."

"And then?"

"Helen's words stung me."

"Why?"

"Because I knew it was true. Partly at least."

"What did she say?"

"Say? She spat the words at me. 'She didn't do it for me, Tommy. She did it for you. She thought you loved me. She wanted to save me so you could be happy. But you're not, are you? You wish I had been shot, not her.' I looked at her, and for the first time in so many years, I was honest with her. 'Yes. I do."

"And?"

"I knew then that was the end of us. Regardless of what happened to Barbara, Helen and I were over."

"Were you sad about that?"

"In a way, but it was also a relief."

"And Helen?"

"She was hurt, but that didn't change my mind. It was complex. I still loved what we had, years ago... as friends. I loved her historically. But... I had to go with Barbara. Helen stood watching me go. The ambulance door closed and she stood watching. We both knew it was over, but I never dreamt she would do what she did."

"Let's not focus on that today. We have time to discuss that later. I am more interested in dealing with the trauma of Barbara's shooting."

"She was so quiet. No groaning. Nothing. Her eyes were closed and I thought she'd gone. I asked the paramedic. 'No, but she's close,' he told me. I took her hand. I didn't know what else to do. 'Barbara, It's Tommy. I'm here.' I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. It was weak but I'm sure I felt it. That comforted me. I was glad she knew she wasn't alone with strangers. The paramedic gave her morphine. He said he could tell she was in pain."

I stopped speaking and rubbed my eyes. I didn't want to cry. Not here. Not being watched. Being judged. Being analysed.

"Tommy, go on when you can."

I stood and stretched my back then wandered over to the window. I was tired. Although I relived everything in my head all the time, finding the words to articulate private thoughts and feelings was exhausting. I turned to Dr Clarkson. "The light was so bright in there yet outside, through the darkened window, it looked dull. Colours of the city flashed by. Red tail lights. A green neon sign saying open. The siren seemed to get louder but we were just passing under an overpass. Then he started. The paramedic. He... 'Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen'. The second time I said it with him. He stopped. I didn't. I said it over and over. For Barbara. For me. For Helen." I turned back to the window.

"Do you need a break, Tommy?"

"Is my hour up already?" I asked bitterly.

"No, But I think you need some time alone now. You could go back out into the garden. We will resume this tomorrow."

I nodded. "Fine." I had ceased to care. In my mind, all I could see was Barbara, and it tore me apart to know that it was all I had to hang onto."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Guest, re list, you probably have the default setting of K-T and this is an M story.

Thank you to those who reviewed Chapter 1. It's gratifying to know that my work touched you. I hope the following chapters do not disappoint.

* * *

I managed to eat a small sandwich for dinner which was the most food I had eaten in weeks, but I couldn't face breakfast. I had slept poorly which was no different to any other night. The nightmares were still there, like limpet mines waiting to explode. Some nights, like last night, they were mild, but when they detonate, well, the conflagration burns the last vestiges of my sanity. I shake, I sweat, I thrash around. I scream like Hell's last banshee heralding my own demise.

I looked in the mirror. The man staring back wasn't me. Joyless, hollow eyes were rimmed with purplish circles. My cheeks were sunken underneath a grey beard that I could sink most of my finger into and not reach the skin. I took a deep breath. The straggly hair that hung below my shoulders and the knotted whiskers made me look like a beggar who had lost his tin cup rather than the Eighth Earl of Asherton. Helen would be disgusted by me. Barbara would be ashamed of what I had allowed myself to become. Or would she? I 'd like to think she'd understand but then tell me she was worried and I would know I had to get my act together.

With Barbara's look pressing me on, I decided to shave and dress. Mother had brought some clothes when she visited earlier in the week. She thought it might help me feel better and had been distressed when I told her that her obsession with appearances had put me here in the first place.

Shaving was harder than I had imagined. My hands shook and the harder I tried, the more they defied me. I managed to complete one side. It was a bit patchy, but I risked tearing my skin if I tried to get closer. The other cheek was easier. Wondering why and trying to think through the physics, made me forget everything else and do a better job.

I arrived promptly for my appointment. I was secretly pleased to see Clarkson's double take at the change in my appearance. "Tommy! You look good. Come in."

"I thought it was time to... I don't know; take some responsibility?"

"Excellent. Facing up to your failings and looking to address them is the first step to recovery, Tommy. We can arrange for a barber too if you'd like."

"Yes, thank you."

"Did you manage to eat anything?"

"Half a cheese sandwich last night."

Clarkson smiled. "That's terrific, Tommy. So tell me how you felt after our session. What prompted you to shave?"

"I was numb." Had talking about it helped? Possibly... Yes, I didn't understand why, but it had. "Talking about it... made me see I need to do something, or I will..."

"That's okay. You will experience a range of emotions on this journey. It's a long road, Tommy. There are no instant answers, unfortunately. Shaving was a very positive step."

"I thought... it would be what Barbara wanted. She would hate to see me like this."

Clarkson nodded then surprised me by rubbing my arm. There was no fake smile. He was genuinely empathetic. "Are you ready to continue?" he asked quietly.

I almost laughed. "No, but I will."

We both sat, and he turned on his recorder. "Tommy, we were talking about being in the ambulance with Barbara. Did anything else happen?"

"No. The paramedic told me Barbara was a fighter. At the hospital, they pulled her away from me and rushed her through flapping plastic doors. Someone took me to a waiting area. It was so impersonal. I remember thinking that. There was grey linoleum that covered half way up the wall and a stupid pink rail. It seemed very old-fashioned. The floor was coated in grey and white speckles of a hard rubbery material, but you could see the grooves of the old surface that they had sprayed it over. Dark rubber track from trolleys and wheelchairs spun hurriedly into triage were a grim reminder of what happened there. I could even see a faint pink blood stain in the corner that had mop streaks in it, and on the wall, they had framed posters of flowers. I thought it was incongruous to try to make the place look cheery. I imagined people standing hosing down the hall, washing away people's lives. It smelt of blood and antiseptic... and death."

"How long were you there?"

"Hours. The hard, moulded plastic chairs were uncomfortable, and I remember being ashamed thinking that. I was alive. Barbara was dying, and all I could think about was how uncomfortable some bloody chair was. I paced a lot. Back and forth along the corridor, waiting for news, any news. Waiting. Hoping. Waiting. Fearing. And I was angry; at Nina, at Pavletic, at Helen, even at Barbara. I know she didn't intend to get shot. She was trying to save Helen, but..."

The psychiatrist smiled encouragingly. "Anger is understandable when you feel powerless."

"Powerless, useless, pathetic. Barbara was not expected to live, and I could only think of myself." I put my head down in my hands. My elbows dug painfully into my knees.

"Is that true? Were you only thinking of yourself?"

"I didn't want to lose her. What we had, what we did together... it mattered. Barbara had a way of connecting with me that no one else had. She made me feel less alone in the world. She was closer than a friend, and yet she called me Sir and refused to call me by my name. It was the oddest of relationships and yet... it was the core of my life around which everything else played out. Barbara was the one person I could always count on."

"Did she feel the same?"

I stood and walked to the window. I remembered that night in her flat. 'I have that don't I?' 'We both do.' Hardly the clearest declaration, but one we both understood. "Yes. I couldn't have been easy to put up with, but neither was she at times. We understood each other. We would always be there."

"And?"

"I hadn't been had I? I had taken Helen back. It felt disloyal, even at the time. I don't understand why, or I didn't then. Barbara and I were not romantically involved. I'd never even considered that, but we loved each other in our way."

"Love takes many forms, Tommy."

"When Helen came back, she had changed. She was the Helen I had grown up with, my friend. It was easier to love her. I knew the first time we slept together again that she had been with someone else. I'd been tempted, but I'd remained faithful. I told myself that meant I loved her. So I took her back and pushed Barbara into the background."

"You were there when it counted. You held Barbara's hand in the ambulance. She knew you were there."

"Yes. I take comfort in that, but it doesn't make up for it does it?"

Clarkson removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Barbara never blamed you, Tommy."

"Blaming me and being hurt by me; they're not the same thing. I know I hurt her."

"Yes, perhaps you did, but she forgave you. Things were good between you weren't they?"

"Yes. That's the thing about Barbara. She always did, until..." I stopped. That's why this hurt so much now.

"So you waited at the hospital?"

"Yes. I wasn't going anywhere. A doctor told me they had taken her for surgery. I had to give my permission as next of kin. The bullet had missed her heart but destroyed most of her lung and lodged near her spine. They operated to remove the bullet and the bottom two-thirds of the lung. It was her only chance. So I signed the paper then sat and waited."

"Go on."

"Helen turned up. She tried to reason with me and get me to go home. She was back to being sympathetic at first saying she was worried about me, that I couldn't do anything for Barbara sitting there. She suggested I get some sleep. I told her to go away."

"Did you argue?"

"Not really. It might have been then that she accused me of being a pathetic Labrador or that might have been later, but I wasn't going anywhere until I had seen Barbara."

"Helen left?"

"She stayed for a while, but we didn't talk. I didn't want her there. Not after what she had said. She left and went home."

"And you saw Barbara that night?"

"Yes, about four hours later. They stabilised her. She was in intensive care, but they let me see her. She looked so... peaceful. They had her sedated of course, but it was more than that, it was if she had found a tranquil place. The doctor told me the next 24 hours was crucial. If she survived that, then her chances improved dramatically. I promised to pay for anything she needed."

"Could you stay with her?"

"No. I had only five minutes alone with her. I held her hand and... I didn't know what to say. I had spent hours thinking about what I'd say, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't admit to her that I had any doubts she'd pull through. I think I ordered her to recover. I told her to hang in and fight. I thanked her for what she did but also told her she had been stupid doing it. I remember saying that I needed her, that she had to get better for me. It was selfish, but... I thought she would respond to it."

"So what did you do then?"

"I went home. I needed to sleep and be back at the hospital first thing. They promised to phone me if her condition changed in any way."

"And Helen was at home?"

"Yes. I didn't want to speak to her. I locked myself in my study and poured a drink."

"So you drank heavily? Even then?"

"Not heavily, no."

"When did you first notice your drinking?"

"I had begun to rely on it a bit too much. The first time I was conscious of it was when I stopped at a pub for Dutch courage on the way to my hearing. That was just before Helen came back. I put it down to nerves, but I knew then it was turning into something sinister. I had sat alone too often after Helen left. At that stage, there was no compulsion. Alcohol was just a way of numbing everything. I would sit and drink and listen to music or read. It helped me relax, but after needing that drink before the hearing, I recognised it was becoming a problem. I tried to be more careful after that, but not that night. The night Barbara was shot I needed a drink. I needed several."

"Did Helen try to talk to you?"

"She tried, but I wasn't interested in anything she had to say. She had made her viewpoint clear when she thought more about herself than the woman who had just taken a bullet for her."

"She was in shock. Don't you think it was natural for her to want comfort from her husband?"

"Yes, but she knew Barbara was alone. She knew I was her partner for all those years. Helen knew Barbara had been shot before. All she had to do was say 'go' and then follow me to the hospital. We could have waited together. Was it too much to ask that she comfort me too? She knew what Barbara meant to me." I started pacing the room.

"Did she? Or did she think Barbara meant more to you than she did?"

Ouch. Clarkson was looking at me as if I should have known I loved Barbara, but I hadn't, not then. "Possibly, but she never asked. We rowed about Barbara early in our marriage. I thought we were beyond that."

"Sorry, I'm sidetracking you. Go on."

"I had a long shower. I remember being surprised when the water was red. I felt bad washing Barbara's blood away. The next morning, Helen wanted to throw my jumper away. I would 't let her. Barbara's blood had caked into it. I wanted to keep it, so I locked it in a drawer in my study."

"Because it was a reminder of Barbara?"

I wandered back to the chair and sat down. "No, because it felt disloyal not to; as if I was throwing her in the rubbish along with the jumper."

"Was that logical?"

"I don't know. Yes, in a way. And yes, it might have been because I was scared that would be all I'd have left of her."

"What happened then?"

"Not much. I was exhausted, so I did get some sleep. I went back to the hospital around eight in the morning. They let me stay with Barbara all day and into the night. She was still heavily sedated. She groaned a bit, so I held her hand. It seemed to help her. I kept telling her I was there. I reminisced about some of our cases, some of the characters, some of the situations we had been in together. I didn't know what else to say."

"I'm sure that helped."

"I hope so. Yes, it did, she told me later."

"I'm glad."

"I went back every day, hopeful that the longer she clung on, the better her prospects were. On the third morning, she was awake. I was so relieved, but she frowned at me. I didn't realise, but I must have looked distressed. Her voice was weak, but the first thing she asked was 'is Helen okay?' I told her she was fine then I had to leave, or I would have broken down. I didn't want her to see me like that. I didn't even know why I was so upset. I should have been happy she was alive."

"I can understand, Tommy. After thinking you'd lost her, seeing her come back to you, it's emotional. You wouldn't be human if it didn't affect you."

I dabbed at my right eye and swallowed. "It was only partly that. Do you know what it really was? The fact that her first thoughts were not about herself but Helen, whereas Helen had only thought about herself. That was the contrast between the two of them right there. And... Barbara's words made me hate Helen even more."

I ran my fingers slowly through the tangle of my hair. "When I went back in, Barbara carried on as if nothing had happened. She understood. I think she had heard a lot of what I'd told her. I had probably said more than I remember. She thanked me for being there for her. We both ended up teary-eyed, so we just held hands and said nothing." I smiled. Sometimes between us, silence meant more than conversation.

"And she recovered quickly?"

"No, her progress was slow. They had to operate again to remove the bullet. It was over a month before she was transferred to the rehabilitation centre."

"Did you continue to visit her?"

I sat back at stared at him, trying to understand why he would ask. "Of course! When she was in the hospital, I went every night and stayed as long as I could. She had no one else."

"And how was your life with Helen?"

"We avoided each other. We rarely talked. Neither of us could face the inevitable argument."

"Did you sleep together?"

"Sex? No! And I moved into the spare bedroom the day after Barbara woke up. I went to work, then to visit Barbara, then I'd sit in my study. Helen was asleep most nights by the time I went to bed. Our paths rarely crossed."

"And you were drinking each night?"

"Yes. It became... a ritual I suppose."

"Were you trying to block out thoughts and memories?"

"Not consciously. I used to sit and try to decide what to do. I had promised Helen I wouldn't be the one who walked away. When she came back, I made that promise. But..." I stood and walked back to the window. There was a thunderstorm developing, and the sky was turning black. It shared the turmoil that boiled inside me.

"But...?"

"I was trying to force her hand, and she knew it. So she stayed. More to spite me than save our marriage. But I should have had it out with her, shouldn't I?"

"Should you? I don't know. I wasn't there, Tommy. I can't tell you what you should or shouldn't have done. My job is to help you live with what you did do."

I continued to watch the storm creep closer. Lightning struck a tree in the field beyond the lake. I jumped. The jagged bolt and the crack of thunder were almost simultaneous. My nerves were bad. I lifted my hand, and it was shaking. The more I watched it, the stronger it juddered. Control slipped from my head as easily as it had from my hands. Despite my best intentions, for the first time in two days, my yearning for a drink returned. My mouth watered at the thought of a single malt burning a path down my throat and through my veins. "I need a drink!"

"Tommy, come and sit down."

"No! I need a bloody drink!"

"Tommy."

"You can't stop me. This..." I waved my hands around wildly. "Is killing me. I can't talk about Helen and Barbara, not like this. You can't torture me and deprive me of comfort you bastard. I need a fucking drink."

I pushed past him and out into the grounds. I started to run. Hawthorne Manor's drive was a long one, and the gravel crunched under my shoes as I ran towards the high iron gates. Rain began to fall in heavy drops around me. Lightning flashed over the lake. Beyond the silver water, everything was dark and evil. I looked down at my shoes. They slowed me too much. I wanted to shake them off. Then I stopped. Dead in my tracks. My shoes were the ones I had put away after that night. These were the shoes I was wearing when Barbara was shot. I collapsed onto my knees.

The disembodied cries that filled the gaps in the thunder were mine. I had my face turned to the storm, hoping that lightning would strike me dead. I wanted to be free. Free from the pain. Free from my body crying out for poison. Free from guilt. Free from Barbara hating me. Free from knowing I caused Helen's death.


	3. Chapter 3

"Lord Asherton!"

Rough hands gripped each of my arms and tried to pull me to my feet. I felt heavy. I resisted simply by doing nothing. Ferocious rain pelted us as they struggled to lift me.

"Lord Asherton, you have to come inside."

Now, I turned on them. I lashed out with flailing arms and kicking feet. Someone groaned as my knee connected with pudgy flesh. I cursed and screamed. My face felt hot, and there was a high pitched squeal in my ear when I lost my footing and fell onto the stone.

One of my shoes came off. Someone took their hands away while they reached for it. I tried to hobble away but Jim, an orderly who was more like a bouncer, growled an order. The world spun as calm darkness washed over me. Oddly, I remember thinking about how cold my foot was before I passed out.

I woke tied to the bed. Big leather straps chaffed against my ankles, knees and groin as I tried to break free, but my arms were trapped against my side. I attempted to move my head, but something heavy held my forehead in place. Dr Clarkson stood over me.

"I'm sorry, Tommy, but you were a danger to yourself and my staff. If we release you do you promise not to become violent again?"

Me violent? Good god, what had I become? Shame permeated every cell in my being. "Yes."

I felt a sting in my arm. My head filled with cotton wool. I tried to form a coherent thought, but words tumbled together haphazardly. Valium. I became detached from my body and my mind. I had two parallel trains of thought that I tried to follow, but they jarred and jumbled into a dissonance Stravinsky would have been proud to have composed.

* * *

"Tommy." Someone was shaking me awake. But I wasn't asleep? Was I? I couldn't tell. I had no perception of reality. "Tommy."

"Barbara?"

The woman sighed. "No, Tommy. It's Mother."

"Mother? Why are you here?"

"Dr Clarkson sent for me. You had an... episode."

"I want to see Barbara."

"Tommy, you know that's not possible. She doesn't want to see you."

"Why?"

"You know why, Tommy. Barbara's your past. You have to look forward."

"Not without Barbara. I have no future without Barbara."

"Tommy, please. You need to accept that it won't happen."

I turned my face to the wall. "Barbara. Barbara. Barbara. Barbara." I began to hit my head against the wall, partly to block out the pain but mostly to force them to sedate me. Unconscious I didn't suffer. Or if I did, I didn't remember it. As blood dribbled into my eye, I heard Mother calling for help.

It was two or three days before they began to bring me back. I hadn't minded being out of it. My dreams had been pleasant. My childhood on the boat with Father. Playing cricket at Eton. Travelling to Venice for the first time. Spending time with Barbara, arguing, talking, just being. I didn't want reality. I wanted to stay in this floaty, surreal world where nothing hurt me. With alcohol, you endure, and almost come to enjoy, the pain. That first sip when you break the seal, you know what will come, but you do it anyway, wanting to suffer, needing to punish yourself for your sins. With this, I was detached. It wasn't me. I hadn't lost the woman I loved.

I was in my pyjamas and dressing gown again for my next session with Dr Clarkson. He looked wary. "How are you bearing up, old chap?"

It sounded like something from the British Raj. Toodle pip. Chin up. Don't let the buggers beat you. I turned away. "Dandy, just bloody dandy."

"You had a setback. It happens. We can work through it. Do you know what triggered it?"

As I stood in the middle of the room, I exhaled in a long, deliberate breath. "The storm I think. I just suddenly felt claustrophobic, scared, alone. I wanted to bury myself in her arms, have her protect me, love me. When I can't have that, then I need... well, that was obvious."

"We took you off the sedation because you were developing a taste for it. Swapping the witch for the bitch, we call it. Becoming hooked on something else is not the answer. We need to work through this, Tommy. Find something for you to live for."

"I live for Barbara."

"Tommy, this isn't living. It's barely surviving. Barbara wouldn't want this for you."

I stared at my palm. It itched where there was a small cut, and I wondered what caused it. I closed my fist. Ah, a fingernail. I looked up. "No, she wouldn't, but she left me, even though she knew that would destroy me."

"You think she did it deliberately? To hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No. Barbara would never do that. She just couldn't cope with her guilt and mine."

Clarkson walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. "We need to break the cycle, Tommy."

"Part of me wants to, and part of me doesn't care."

"That's normal."

"I need to see Barbara. I think it would help. If I could just talk to her, reason with her."

"No, Tommy. She refuses to see you. Your mother tried again the other day."

"Did she? Is Barbara alright? What did she say?"

"Yes, she's fine. She said that she wouldn't come here. She thinks it will only make things worse because she can't give you what you want."

I hugged my arms tightly in front of me to stop shaking. Deep down I believed that one day she would understand and come back to me. That hope was fading. "I thought she'd always be there for me. No matter what."

"Tommy, stop it. She has to protect her sanity too. I don't imagine it is easy for her knowing that you're in here, knowing you want to see her and having to refuse."

"Well, it's a damned sight easier than being trapped in here!"

"I know, but if you want to get well you need to face it all, Tommy."

"Do I? Do I really?" I started to pace again.

"Tommy. You're an intelligent man. You know you do."

I sat in his chair as a sign of acquiescence. I couldn't continue like this. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Let's go back to when Barbara was sent to convalesce. What happened then?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If the only way to sobriety and sanity was this, then I had to push through. "I paid for a clinic near Hampstead Heath. It was a lovely place with big grounds and modern facilities. Her wounds were healing well, but she had to learn to breathe more efficiently and deeper into her remaining lung. She tired very easily and couldn't walk far. The bullet also caused some nerve damage near her spine, so walking took effort. The centre's physiotherapists helped her to cope with the changes."

"And you visited?"

"Of course. We spoke on the phone every day, usually several times. I'd ring for advice on cases, mainly to make her feel needed but also because we were still a team. I'd drive up on Wednesdays and Saturdays and Sundays. We'd sit in the gardens and talk or watch TV together. After about a month they let me take her out for short drives and the occasional pint."

"Did you realise you'd fallen in love with her by then?"

I shook my head and gave a half-laugh. "No, silly isn't it. I had no idea. I just knew I missed her and I enjoyed our time together. It felt natural and right being with her."

"Did you talk about your relationship with Helen?"

The restlessness returned. I stood and began to pace. "No. Barbara always asked after her. I always said she was fine. A few times she pushed for more. I think she knew we were in trouble. Barbara understood that I would talk when I was ready, and that it might take a while. I knew Helen had visited Barbara in the hospital to thank her for saving her life, but Barbara never told me she had also visited her at Hampstead demanding Barbara relinquish her hold on me. I only learned that from Helen the night before she... died."

"So when did it finally dawn on you that you were in love with each other?"

I stopped pacing and went to the window. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. "The first time I took her away from the centre overnight. Barbara wanted to get away from hospitals for a while. She was finally allowed a two-day homestay, but she had nowhere to go, and no way to get there. She didn't want to go back to her flat or London, and I knew how badly she needed a break. Howenstowe was too far, and she needed time to recharge without people and questions. So I booked a little cottage near Eastbourne. It was on the cliffs, overlooking the sea and had no one around for miles. The village had a fantastic little pub. I knew it would be exactly what she needed."

"You had a weekend there?"

"No, we drove down on a Wednesday evening. Barbara was tired from the journey. We ate at the pub, had a couple of pints and it was wonderful. Just like it had always been. We had both missed that, more than we knew."

"Go on, Tommy. If you can."

I looked at Clarkson. If I can? I wondered what signs I was giving him. Did he think I would turn violent again?

"Barbara was very tired, as I said, so she went to bed almost as soon as we got back to the cottage. I sat by the fire for while reading. The break was good for me too. I felt... at peace."

I returned from the window and sat in the chair. I wanted Clarkson to see my eyes and understand how important those few days had been. "Barbara slept late then I cooked breakfast, and we joked about toast and cutlery drawers." I grinned at the memories.

"Cutlery drawers?"

"It's a long story. Irrelevant really. We decided to go for a stroll along the cliffs. The weather was glorious; sunny and warm. I took a rug because I knew she would need to rest. We found a lovely spot in a little glen, and we stopped there. We sat on the blanket, watched the ocean and drank some wine that I had carried up there. The sea was a deep sapphire colour. Normally it is much greener, but the way the light played across it... it was beautiful. We started talking, at first about the freedom of being away from London and the centre, then our work, and our pasts. It seemed so natural to just sit there and talk."

"But you'd talked before?"

"Yes, but this was different. We talked about things we had never told anyone else. Barbara rarely let her defences down, even with me, and I was never good at expressing my feelings. She talked about her brother's death. I told her what had happened between Mother and me, how much it hurt."

I stopped talking. How could I do justice to that day? To the way I felt. To the way we were able to heal each other. I sighed.

"Tommy?"

"Sorry. It's impossible for me to find the words. It was as if we were both full of holes, but she filled mine, and I filled hers, and we were whole again. I'm sorry, that's a terrible analogy. Too many holes. I can't explain it. Maybe I should say, you had to be there." I added a little chortle and tried to make light of it all.

"Tommy, you don't have to be ashamed."

"I'm not ashamed. It was sublime. Too beautiful for words."

"If it helps, focus on what happened. The emotions will follow."

"Barbara said she was tired. I suggested we go back, but she wanted to stay. She settled back on the rug, and I laid down next to her. We watched the sky and continued to talk. It was the first time we had really mentioned the shooting. Then she said it, and it changed everything. 'Thank you, Tommy. If you hadn't been there, holding my hand, praying for me, I would have given up."

"She was grateful."

"Yes, but it was much more than that. She called me Tommy. That last shield had fallen. I looked across, and she smiled at me. At that moment I knew she loved me, not just as a friend. And I knew that I loved her. The realisation hit me like a freight train. It literally took my breath away. My heart started to beat to a new, better rhythm. I had been blind. Something I yearned for so long had been right there. I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at her. She nodded, just once. The barest of nods. I leant down and kissed her."

I closed my eyes. That memory was precious, and I didn't want to share the details with Clarkson. Tears leaked from my eyes as I remembered the first feel of her lips against mine. Soft, loving, hungry, giving. It was so hard to describe something so fulfilling and wondrous. "We made love - slow, perfect love."

"And you didn't feel guilty about Helen?"

"I didn't think about Helen. My whole world was Barbara, and we had discovered that friends could be lovers. Later we talked about having feelings over the years that we didn't know how to handle or even how to label. Conflicting, contradictory feelings finally made sense to both of us. It was unhurried and the most beautiful afternoon of our lives." Now the tears ran freely. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and blew my nose. "Sorry."

"Don't be, Tommy. This is important."

"We had dinner at the pub, then spent the night together, talking, holding each other, making love. It was exquisite. Together we were perfect. We finally knew what it was like to be loved and so much of that was about loving the other. I was never happier than I was in those two days."

"And Barbara felt just as strongly?"

I nodded. "Yes. Her feelings were real. Neither of us was good at exposing our souls to the world, but we did. It was raw and very real."

"And you hadn't even considered that you were in love with her before that?"

"It sounds incredulous, doesn't it? But no, because until that afternoon I didn't understand what being in love meant. The odd feelings I had had for Barbara, the ones I couldn't name, they were love. It wasn't the desperate need to almost own someone like I had felt for Deborah and Helen. It wasn't about holding on. Our love was about letting go, allowing someone to breathe and be independent but knowing that they need you to live. I can't explain it well at all, but it wasn't what I thought it was, and together Barbara and I found it. There was an unbreakable emotional and spiritual bond and some rather wonderful physical expressions of them."

"Tommy, let me play that back to you." Clarkson rewound his tape machine with that characteristic high-pitched garble. "Here, listen to what you say."

"It wasn't the desperate need to almost own someone like I had felt for Deborah and Helen. It wasn't about holding on. Our love was about letting go, allowing someone to breathe and be independent but knowing that they need you to live. I can't..." Clarkson stopped the tape.

"Did you hear what you said?"

I nodded. "I've been trying to hold onto her, haven't I?"

Clarkson nodded. "Yes. You tried to control her; control her love."

"Like I did with Helen."

"Yes, Tommy."

I put my head in my hands. "I drove her away."

"Tommy, its never that simple. Your relationship was put under enormous strain, and with Barbara's poor health, something had to give."

"No, I drove her out. I stopped giving and tried to take more and more. I broke her." I pulled at my hair and gritted my teeth to stop myself standing up and screaming.

"Why don't we have a break now? We can resume after lunch. I think we need to start talking about Helen."

"I don't know that I can. Not yet."

"Tommy, I think that's exactly why we need to talk about it. We need to understand why Barbara's shooting haunts you so much when she lived, yet you ignore Helen's death."

"I don't ignore it at all. Facing that is how I lost Barbara."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** This chapter may be disturbing. For that reason I have decided to publish the final chapter, Chapter 5, as well. Please read the entire story. I know reading numbers have dropped away, and I thought they might, but if you have come this far, read on.

* * *

A claustrophobic uneasiness began to tighten around me. I needed to get away, so I strolled down to the edge of the lake. The fresh blue water invited me to sit and watch while I debated what to tell Dr Clarkson about my wife. More to the point, what could I say? Helen had been an enigma, even to me. She had been vivacious, funny, charming, empathetic, loving and also cold and surly. In Barbara's vernacular, she would have been labelled a proper bitch. Not that Barbara had ever said that. She wouldn't. I don't remember her ever criticising Helen, but there were looks. I knew what she was thinking, but never once did she say anything.

It is a truism, but one grounded in the misery of many - hindsight is a wonderful thing. After Eastbourne, Barbara and I agreed that I would tell Helen about us. Neither of us was comfortable with the idea that we were adulterous. We respected Helen and wanted to be honest so that I could commence formal separation processes.

My conversation did not go well. The ugliest side of my wife revealed itself and in turn, mine. We argued brutally. Every last issue we had harboured over the years poured out in a stream of vitriol and hatred. Helen blamed me for neglecting her needs, and my response that she had the emotional softness of a hungry dinosaur was not seen as remotely funny. My closeness with Barbara, where Helen felt like the third wheel, was thrown at me with an accusation that we had conspired to isolate her. I denounced her penchant for making major decisions for us without consulting me and her self-righteous belief that she always knew best. I threw in Helen's continued fascination with Rhys and her hypocrisy regarding Barbara for added insult.

But never argue with a psychologist, they know how to wound you to your core. Helen stood with her hands on her hips, smiled as if she was Satan's spawn, then declared she had only returned for my genetics, planning a child that would secure her future and finance the ailing Clyde family estate. To cap it off she swore that my money and title had been the main reasons for marrying me. Of all the things I thought Helen was, a gold digger had never been one of them.

Even though deep down I knew it was true, I could not believe she had never loved me. We had been best friends for years. I had at least had the decency to think I was in love with her. As I sat in my study and drained a bottle of my best Aberfeldy, each sip fuelled my anger. Then Helen marched in with a list of demands, including how she proposed we split my money. I didn't even care about the money, but her callousness tipped me over the point of reason. She had made me promise never to leave because it would destroy her, but now there were no tears, only a grubby hand trying to take more than half my family estate. I never had, until that moment, thought of striking a woman but I raised my hand and swung violently at her face.

In the last second, I pulled away. We both stopped dead, staring at each other. Helen fled upstairs, and I seized another bottle from my credenza then sunk into my chair.

By morning everyone knew. Mother yelled at me loud enough to be heard from Howenstowe without the telephone. Judith rang to see if I was alright and then my solicitor rang to inform me that the Clyde family lawyer had already rung him demanding a substantial stipend until we could reach a settlement.

I packed a bag and drove to Hampstead, grateful not to have been arrested for drink driving. I was undoubtedly over the limit but I needed to be away from Helen or I might not stop myself if we argued. I had genuinely feared I might kill her. A rage existed inside me. The passion of a thousand real and perceived injustices. I couldn't trust myself not to lose my self-control.

Barbara, as always, calmed my soul. She listened to me without judgement then wrapped her arms around me and let me mourn my marriage. The memory made me shiver. I needed those arms and her strength now, but I had driven the only woman who ever truly loved me into hiding.

I picked up a handful of pebbles from the path and began to pitch them into the lake, disrupting the surface of the dark water. Ripples spread out like the consequences of my marriage. I had assumed the lake was ornamental, but as I studied the contours of the land, I could see that Capability Brown had built the gardens around a natural feature. The lake was probably quite deep.

As children, Simon and I had often skipped stones across ponds on his family estate. It annoyed me that he sided with Helen and disappeared from my life after my relationship with Barbara was in the open. He didn't approve and made that very clear on the morning he invited me to breakfast at our club.

"The trouble with you, Tommy, is that you always want more. You have Helen, or had her, but you have to have Barbara too. She's your friend; I know that, but, well, she is hardly likely to make a satisfactory Countess is she?"

"Simon, it's none of your business."

"Have your fling. Get it out of your system, but don't throw away your marriage."

I remember staring at him hoping he would understand, but he meant it. "Simon, I love her."

"You don't understand the first thing about love, Tommy. You're always searching for something elusive. It's elusive because it doesn't exist. You and Helen are well-suited. She has impeccable breeding; she's well-educated, able to hold an entertaining conversation. What more do you want?"

"Someone who loves me, and I have that with Barbara."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tommy! Helen loves you. You were friends for years. Besides in most marriages, it's the friendship that counts. Love fades, or romantic love anyway. After all, it is only a hormonal reaction that stimulates our biological urge to procreate."

"Really, Simon." I frowned at him in disgust.

"Look, Tommy, if you must, take Barbara as your mistress, but don't forsake Helen."

My hackles began to rise. "That's rich, from the man who stole the woman I loved from under me."

Simon waved his hand dismissively. "It wasn't like that, and you know it."

"Wasn't it? Deborah and I..."

"What? Are you going to tell me you were both in love? Tommy, you can't steal someone who doesn't want to leave."

A stake passed through my heart, but he was right. Deborah hadn't been in love with me. I think she was once, but I had destroyed that over time. I was determined never to let that happen with Barbara.

"That's in the past, Simon, but don't try to steal my happiness again by telling me who I can and cannot love." I threw my serviette on the table and stormed out.

* * *

Barbara convinced her doctors that with my help she was well enough to be discharged. We moved into her flat at the end of that week. It was cramped, but it was overflowing with love. What others thought meant nothing to us. We understood each other, and we were the only ones who counted.

Other than my breakfast with Simon, I spent my time with Barbara. I took leave until we could finalise our plans for the future. So much depended on Barbara's health and Helen's revenge. Those few weeks together were the happiest of my life, despite the circumstances. We should have known it would be shattered.

I had been in bed with Barbara when I took the call. She had not slept well, so we stayed snuggled together under the sheets until mid-morning. We were beginning to turn loving kisses into something more. I answered because I was expecting Helen to ring and wanted the satisfaction of hearing her anger. I had engaged the best property law barrister in England, and he confirmed that my father's prudence in placing the majority of the estate into a family trust with strict income conditions, meant that Helen could only claim a portion of my allowance which was several million pounds smaller than she had hoped.

"Don't, Tommy. Let her cool down first." Barbara touched my thigh and inched her fingers up my leg.

"Tempting as your offer sounds, I want to hear her reaction."

"No, Tommy. You're better than that."

"You, my love, overestimate me."

I took the call, and Barbara rolled away. I could tell she was annoyed, but I intended to make it up to her very soon. "Helen. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You bastard! You knew." I could hear the sound of traffic in the background. She had just come out from her meeting.

"I had a reasonable idea, yes."

"Don't sound so smug. My solicitor is not going to let this rest. He thinks the trust can be set aside."

"It can't. I have had good counsel too. Because it was formed more than twenty years before our marriage but after a male heir was born, my father is considered to have intended to exclude me and any future spouse from sole ownership of the estate. You have no leg to stand on."

"You do realise you have ruined me, and my family. I hate you, Tommy. I hope you and your working class whore are as miserable as we were. I..." The sharp blast of a truck horn and a squeal of brakes obliterated her words. There was a sickening crunch of metal then silence. "Helen! HELEN!"

* * *

The coroner ruled it was an accidental death. He found that she had been distracted by the news and our call. The lorry driver's evidence that she had looked at him them stepped out in front of his vehicle was given little credence as her solicitor had testified that he had watched her from his window and seen her agitation. He believed, or at least said so to protect the Clyde name, that she had looked both ways as she tried to cross the road but in her distressed state had not registered that the truck was moving.

It sounded credible, but I knew it had been deliberate. I had seen enough liars in my career to know the lorry driver was telling the truth. And I had heard a fatalistic tone in her final curse. She wanted to break me, publically and spiritually.

My family were polite to Barbara, but not welcoming. She ignored it, but she couldn't ignore my moods. At my insistence, we had moved into my townhouse in Belgravia. That too was a mistake, but I hadn't wanted to be forced out of what and who I was by Helen. Logically, I knew it was not my fault. Helen had, accidentally or not, died while she was arguing with me. I had wanted to gloat. I should have listened to Barbara, but I hadn't, and every waking minute I was wracked with guilt. About Helen. About Barbara. Things were beginning to spiral out of control.

My greatest sin was thinking I was alone. I had Barbara, but I didn't see until it was too late that she shared my guilt and pain. Our love was publicly sullied. The press ran several stories complete with quotes from my close friends, many of whom I would struggle to recognise in a line-up because I had not seen them in so long. They portrayed Barbara as a chancer, not my soulmate. Even the Met spurned us. Hillier had ensured Barbara's compensation and police pension were fast-tracked. He processed my resignation in record time. We had no jobs and no direction.

Waves of depression started to roll over me, tossing me around like a discarded bottle on a stoney shoreline. Some waves were gentle. A thought or two. A twinge of guilt. Others submerged me. Fear drove my face into the sand. Remorse left me fighting my way to the surface only to be buffeted again. The seventh wave, the worst in the set, would pick me up. I'd ride high towards shore, confident I would make it unscathed, believing I could conquer the insidious dread that fed off my inadequacies, only for it to curl and plunge me headlong in to the rocks, smashing my ego beyond recognition. And then the first wave returned and the cycle began again.

I lost sight of anything beyond me. All my energy was needed to keep my head above water, to breathe. Whiskey helped, a false friend who numbed my mind and tricked my soul. I failed to see the quiet fury that was developing in Barbara. We bickered more frequently, edged with genuine anger. I drank more. We rarely made love. When we did, we had peace. Lying in her arms, holding her close, our troubles faded. Looking back the answers were there. We had each other and together we were strong. Instead, I leant on my false idol. I drank more and more and more to forget while Barbara withdrew and stewed. I told myself that staying in my study would protect her, save her from my pain. I never wanted to be so angry with her that I lost control as I had with Helen. we just needed time I thought, but we slowly lost each other and didn't know how to fix it.

One night, I had been locked in my study for hours battling my demons when Barbara burst through the door. "Tommy, we need to talk."

"Not now, Barbara, I'm too tired."

"It's important, Tommy. You have to stop this. You have to talk to me instead of trying to hide inside that bottle of yours."

"I can't. I killed Helen as sure as if I had run her over myself. How can I forget that? How can we ever go back?"

"We can go forward."

"Can we? Can we really ever forget? Every time we look at each other, we're thinking about her." I regretted saying that as soon as the words left my drunken mouth.

Barbara's face fell. Then for the first time since Eastbourne, I saw her barricades come up. "I went through months of agony because I believed I had done the right thing and because you had been there, waiting. But it was a waste wasn't it?"

"No!"

"Then what is it, Tommy? I still love you. I'm waiting for you to come back to me."

"I know, and I don't deserve you. I've made your life a misery. I drink too much, trying to bury it all, but I can't stop the rage inside me. I can't love you as I should, but I do love you, you have to believe that, Barbara."

"Don't be so bloody selfish. What happened to the Tommy who stayed with me and never let me give up? This is about us, not just you. We moved back here for God alone knows what reason, but this house is full of memories of her. She haunts us. Is that what you want? To live with a cruel ghost who wants to destroy you? I don't. I was shot trying to save her. Now I wish I hadn't. I wish she had died then. I would rather have had to pick up the pieces of you grieving than this."

"Barbara, no."

She walked to the window and looked out. "Don't tell me you never thought that too. You said as much."

"I know, but I wish she were still alive. I should have given her the money and let her leave us in peace."

"Oh, Tommy. I thought we finally had something unbreakable. If you truly love me, then nothing else should matter, but I'm beginning to wonder if you ever did! Was I just another one of your mistakes?" She shook her head. Barbara's disappointment in me was palpable as she slowly looked me up and down. She strode angrily to the door, gave me one last look, one last chance to save us, then walked out.

"Barbara, wait."

I heard her slam the front door. She had gone, and I had never felt so alone and scared. I tried to stand but fell against my desk. Many of her charges were true, but I did love her, more than I could ever find the words to tell her. I just couldn't stop the thoughts that had colonised my mind and poisoned me. Without Barbara, there was nothing.

I leant against the desk for an age, my fingers idly playing with the plastic bag that held three bottles of Hennessy. I had ruined the only relationship that had ever mattered. I removed the bottles, sat in my chair and hurried scribbled, 'I do love you, eternally. I'm sorry.'

I took a deep breath, the irony making me smile as I pulled the bag over my head and knotted it around my neck. As I took what I assumed were my last breaths, I thought of how Barbara and I had been in Eastbourne. Our love. Gentle. Sweet. Fulfilling.

My face was sweating, and the bag clung to it, slowly suffocating me. My quickening gasps echoed. Panic edged into my brain. I began to claw at the bag, but I deserved to die. I had ruined too many lives. Peter. Mother. Simon. Helen. And now my precious Barbara. As lights flashed in my eyes, I lowered my hands and drifted into blackness, I knew Hell was watching, waiting, but it couldn't be worse than the hell in my mind.

Barbara's nails scratched my cheek as she ripped open the bag and pulled it away from my nose and mouth. I coughed, a lot.

"What the fuck are you doing, Tommy?"

I passed out again. It was the last time I saw her.

* * *

The lake called to me. Barbara was not around to save me this time. I wish I knew how she had known, why she had come back. Love perhaps? I hoped so.

I tucked my pyjamas legs into my socks. Grabbing handfuls of pebbles, I stuffed them down as far as they would go. I stood and shook them further, adding more before tucking in my shirt, pulling the drawstring tight and knotting it firmly. I bent down and gathered handfuls of the rough gravel and shoved it into my shirt, making sure I spread it around evenly. I wanted to fit in as much as I could. I buttoned the shirt up at the neck and pulled my dressing gown around me, binding everything together.

The rocks jabbed and scratched me as I wobbled towards the lake. The weight dragged, and I had to force my legs forward as if I was walking into a gale. I winced at the coldness of the water but kept wading. Ankles, calves, knees. I pushed on. Thighs, groin, waist. I was not deep enough. I used my arms to pull through the water. I began to feel my ballast dragging me under. My slippers sunk into the ooze on the lakebed. I tried to swim deeper. Just a bit further so that I could not change my mind.

I stopped moving, and the water sucked me down. I wanted to exhale, but I held my breath. I needed just a few seconds more to think about Barbara, about Eastbourne, about what could have been. A quote from Tennessee Williams came to mind, 'Hell is yourself, and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person.' I had pushed her away and let redemption slip through my fingers.

The water crushed my chest. White flashes danced in my vision then my focus narrowed like the closing lens of a camera. Just one speck of light remained. I extended my arms and tried to float. I exhaled slowly. My body started to fight for breath but refused to breathe in. I tried to still it, but instinct is greater than the mind. Panic rose in my gut. I was going to die. It was too late to go back. Water flooded into my mouth. I felt my throat cease. I could neither breathe in nor out. I was sinking. I was finally going to find peace.

I could hear a voice calling me. Barbara's? No... impossible. But it was there. Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women... and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death...


	5. Chapter 5

Someone was holding my hand. It was warm and familiar and comforting, but I could sense tension, maybe fear. I squeezed it, hoping that helped. Male voices were mumbling. No words were clear, but they sounded perplexed.

"The scan didn't reveal any lasting damage. He was very lucky they got to him so quickly. The coma is puzzling though. We expected him to be conscious by now."

"Can you do anything for him?" It was Mother's voice. It didn't feel like Mother's hand, but then I had not held that in over thirty years.

"Not much, we just have to wait."

My head hurt. A dull ache wandered around my skull searching for a home. I groaned. Oddly, no one paid me any attention. Hello, I'm here. I can hear you talking about me. Nobody responded.

"Is it possible his mind has shut down because he can't face what happened?"

"Yes, Lady Asherton, that is possible. We don't understand the brain as well as we like to think."

"You mean he may stay like that until he is ready?"

"Possibly, yes."

"Can he hear us?"

Yes! YES!

"Again, we have no way of knowing. Evidence suggests not."

The hand tightened its grip and lifted my fingers to warm lips. "I'm sorry, Tommy. Did I do this to you?"

Barbara!

My heart leapt. I tried to move, to wave, to smile, to squeeze her hand but my body stubbornly refused to budge.

Barbara!

No one understood. How could I make myself visible to them? I tried to cry.

"Is that a tear?" Barbara sounded excited.

"Doubtful, Ms Havers, most likely because he can't blink and clear his tear ducts."

"Oh, I thought he was trying to..." Barbara let out a stifled sob.

No, Barbara, don't cry. I can hear you.

They had no idea I could understand. The doctors left, and the silence deafened me. Why was I even alive? I had tried to drown myself. It made no sense. Maybe I was dead. Maybe this was the nightmare you have in Hell?

"Lady Asherton, I have to leave soon. I don't suppose I could have a few minutes alone with Tommy? I... I need to make my peace, even if he can't hear me. Seeing him like this..."

"I understand, dear. I need to go anyway and complete some paperwork. How long are you staying in Plymouth?"

Plymouth? Why am I in Plymouth?

"I'm catching the afternoon train back to London."

"I'll be back before you go."

I heard the door click. I expected Barbara to speak, but she didn't. I understood that. When she had been shot, I sat for hours not knowing what to say.

Eventually, she spoke. "How did we end up here, Tommy? After Eastbourne, I thought life was finally working out for us. I was so happy. Being shot was worth it because it brought us together."

She was rubbing the inside of my wrist with her thumb. It was something she used to do when we were in bed. Physically I was inert, but my soul ached to be back in her arms, making love. Oh, Barbara, I've missed you so much.

"Dr Clarkson said your nightmares are about me being shot, not about Helen. Tommy, I lived. I'm here, and despite everything, I still love you. That never changed, but I couldn't watch you self-destruct."

Yet you left me. I don't blame you, but you abandoned me. I didn't deserve you, I know that, but losing you was the end. I had nothing to live for anymore. Nothing. I know it was wrong to lock you out, but I was trying to protect you from the worst of me.

"I couldn't reach you, Tommy. You withdrew from life, and me, and it made me angry. I never said it, but we both thought it, if only you had listened to me that day and not answered your bloody phone, then we wouldn't have had that guilt hanging over us. Not as much at least. We would have believed it was just a tragic accident. Or she wouldn't have done it."

She was right. My ego had caused all of this trauma. That's what I had been trying to tell her. It was all my fault. I had destroyed Barbara as well as Helen.

"Those months, watching you drink yourself to death... they were terrifying. I never knew what mood you'd be in, or whether I'd say something that would trigger an outburst. You'd say the most outlandish and paranoid things. You scared me, Tommy."

Oh, Barbara. I know, and I'm sorry. If I could change it, I would. All of it, any of it.

"I judged you, Tommy. I blamed you, not for Helen but for what you did to me... to us. I hated what you had become and yet... I still loved you with all my being."

You did? I didn't deserve you.

Barbara lay her head on my chest. She had done that so often, listening to my heart and reassuring herself that it was real. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, comfort her, tell her how sorry I was, tell her how much I loved her.

"Yesterday, I knew. I was in the kitchen, and I dropped the plate I was carrying. Somehow I knew you were dying. Just as I felt it that night in your study." Her voice hitched, and she paused. "When I saw you with that bag over your face... you'd gone blue, and I thought you were dead."

So that was why she'd come back that night. She'd felt me dying. It felt Byronic and yet, I understood. After Nina shot her, I had experienced her struggle. It was visceral, a profound sense of her being, a connection that could not be explained by science or logic.

"Tommy, I... I understood then what you had felt when Nina shot me. I was so afraid you'd die. I tore that bag off, and you gasped and wheezed. All I could do was hold your hand and repeat that prayer hoping you'd understand and hold on. Only I couldn't remember it correctly, and I thought that if my love hadn't been enough to comfort you when you were alive, how would a half-remembered prayer help. Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

The patchwork of sorrows and regret that held my heart together gave way. For the first time since Helen had died, my connection to Barbara was absolute. Love in its purest form. I didn't need anything else. If only I could take her in my arms and love her back. How could I have been so foolish to let her slip from me?

Barbara, unaware of my epiphany, continued. "I know that you'll never understand why I left. I had to. I didn't know where it would lead. I was scared of what would happen. I know I'm making no sense, but I was scared we would stop loving each other."

No! No, I will never stop loving you.

"I miss you, Tommy. I miss my best friend. I miss my lover."

Oh, Barbara. I miss you too. I'm sorry.

"I know I can never have that back. I just wish that I had been enough for you, Tommy. That my love had been stronger than your demons."

Hearing the pain in her voice was like Black Annis reaching into my chest and clawing my heart out. I had been so self-absorbed and filled with anger and regret that I had lost sight of how precious and strong we were together. Tears ran out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I didn't know if they were real until I felt her wipe them with a tissue. Did she understand?

"Can you hear me? Oh, Tommy, I hope so. Please wake up. Work with Dr Clarkson. Find your way back to us. We can't go back, but maybe one day we can be friends again." She kissed me softly on my forehead.

I want that, Barbara. I want what we had. I love you.

"I have to go." Her hand pulled out of mine taking the warmth with it. I heard the squeak of rubber on linoleum. That's my Barbara, wearing her runners. She was leaving, but she had given me a precious gift - hope.

* * *

It was three frustrating days before I could move and another two before I could communicate. It had given me time to think. For whatever reason, I had been given a third chance. I should have seized the second one when Barbara saved me, but it seems I am a slow learner. This time I was not going to make the same mistake. I needed to sort out my relationships then focus on Barbara. Instant forgiveness was unlikely, even though she still loved me. I had to re-earn her trust, but I was determined to do that. She had offered friendship. I wanted more, but I had to convince her that I could change. Had changed.

I never informed the doctors that I had been able to hear people. I had overheard good things and bad about me. Although the criticism stung, I knew it was justified, or most of it. My drinking had affected more people than I thought. I needed to swallow my pride and start building some bridges.

The day after I was able to move and communicate, Mother buzzed about me trying her hardest not to talk about what had happened. Instead, she chatted about horse sales and the weather, and any other topic that avoided us saying anything meaningful.

"Mother, sit down, please. Stop fussing."

"Tommy, I..."

"I know, I just want to talk."

"To me?"

I nodded, and she perched uneasily on my bed. "Yes. I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry. About everything, Mother. When you... when I found you and Roddy, I was angry and hurt. I thought you had betrayed not only Father but all..."

Mother grabbed my hand and started to talk over me. "Tommy, please it wasn't..."

I reached out and touched her face. She fell silent. "Hear me out, please." She nodded, her eyes threatening a tsunami of tears. "I understand why you did it now, and I forgive you. I know that you loved Roddy, but I have to know, did you still love Father?"

"Thank you, Tommy." The way her face opened, revealed how long she had kept her guilt hidden. The tsunami started, and I pulled her into my arms. It was the first time I hugged her with any sincerity since I was a child. The first time I had not despised the feel of her skin against mine. The first time I had not thought of her as a whore.

"Oh, Tommy. You have no idea how long I have hoped that one day you could release me. Yes, I still loved your father, perhaps too much. But in so many ways, he had already gone. I missed what I had with him. Watching him slowly dying ate away at me. Roddy was alive. He offered hope. But I will never forgive myself for hurting you like that."

"It framed my outlook for too long. I wanted to destroy you, and I never wanted to be hurt like that again. I believed that my love was never enough, so I tried too hard to hold onto people. I smothered them, cajoled them. I drove them away, like Deborah, and Barbara. I destroyed Helen by forcing her into a marriage. In some funny way, I thought it would make her love me."

"Tommy, you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"I can, but I can't let it define me. Do you think Peter would come and see me?"

Mother blew her nose. "Yes, I think so. I thought you would ask for Barbara."

I shrugged. "Does she know I'm awake?"

"Yes. She was relieved."

"Am I going back to Hawthorne Manor?"

Mother frowned. "Do you want to?"

I laughed softly. "No, but I need to. Would you ask Barbara to come down in a few weeks? I'd like to see her."

"Not earlier?"

I shook my head. "No. Not earlier."

* * *

Making peace with Peter had been hard. We met in Clarkson's room the day after I returned. We were two addicts trying to control demons that would never go but hopefully could be tamed. My concern was that by dredging up the past to subdue mine, I might awaken Peter's. I wanted to help us heal, not harm him.

I walked around the grounds for hours trying to work out what to say. In the end, I opted for the simplest conversation. "I'm sorry, Peter. When we were young, I never wanted to hurt you. I was too caught up in my own problems, and I never saw what I was doing to you, then or over the years."

"I looked up to you, Tommy. I loved you, and you abandoned me. I know you pushed me because you wanted what was best for me, but I only ever needed you to love me."

"I know. And I do. I can only say how sorry I am."

He put his hand on my arm. "I forgive you. I've seen what you've been through. I think you understand now, don't you? You have to make peace with the past if you want to be free."

We embraced. I think we both shed tears. I understood now why Mother had seemed to lose years from her face after I forgave her. It was as if I had had been cleansed.

Peter and I walked in the garden for hours talking about the past but more importantly, how to beat addiction. He was going to help me, and I knew that was helping him.

* * *

I met with Dr Clarkson every morning. This morning I was nervous, and he noticed straight away.

"Tommy, are you okay?"

I wandered over to the window. "Yes, just anxious about seeing Barbara again."

"She wouldn't have agreed to come if she didn't want to see you."

I rubbed my chin. I had steamed my face over a kettle before shaving to make sure I got the closest shave I could. Even though I doubted she would kiss me, even in greeting, I wanted to look my best. I had been into town yesterday and had a haircut. The one I had at the hospital had been too scruffy. I wanted to look neat, and as close to my former self as I could. Mother had brought down my light grey suit and a sky blue shirt. Barbara liked me wearing blue. The pants were too big, but I had cinched them in with my belt. I looked respectable.

"I know. I want to rebuild our friendship, but I don't want to appear demanding or possessive."

"Then just do what we talked about. Let the conversation develop. If she needs to vent to heal, then you have to accept that."

"Yes. It's funny, I expected others to yell at me, but they didn't. Barbara might though. We were good at arguing. We used to do it all the time at work."

"This will be different, more personal."

I smiled at him then looked at my Rolex. She was due soon. "Should I wait in the grounds or meet her in here?"

"It's a nice day. Why don't you wait on the bench by the lake? I'll send her down."

"You trust me by the lake?"

"Yes."

"I was kidding."

"I'm not. In this last month, you've come a long way, Tommy. Your nightmares have gone, and you seem to have forgiven yourself about Helen. If it helps, I'm confident that you'll succeed in anything you set your mind to."

"Thank you. I haven't completely forgiven myself, and I doubt I'll ever forget, but I can manage it, especially if I can win Barbara back."

"One day at a time, Tommy. Don't put too much hope into your first meeting."

I shook his hand. "No, I know. I prepared to persevere. Thank you."

I sat on the bench and waited. I glanced again at my watch. It was ten minutes before Barbara was due. I watched two white swans gliding across the lake. I shuddered at the memory of its dark waters closing around me. I wondered if I should feel guilty. I didn't. If that hadn't happened; if Jim had not seen me and pulled me free, then I would not have this chance. That was my rock bottom. I smiled at the unintended pun. But as Peter had told me, you have to find rock bottom before you can climb back.

"Hiya." Barbara bumped down onto the opposite end of the bench.

I smiled at her. She had come, that was a start. She looked terrific. Her hair was cut more elegantly than I remembered, and her clothes were a bit smarter and better styled. "Hiya. Thanks for coming down."

"You look good, Tommy. When I last saw you... Well, I happy you seem better."

"Thanks. I do. Feel better. Much better. I'm getting more sleep, and I'm even putting on some weight."

"That's wonderful news."

"Barbara, I've never been good at talking about my feelings, so this may sound much more awkward than I would like. No words can ever tell you how sorry I am for what happened. I never, never wanted to hurt you."

She loked me straight in the eye and nodded. "I know."

"I haven't told anyone else, but I could hear people at the hospital for about four days before I came around."

"Oh! They said you probably couldn't."

"I remember your visit." She looked down and nodded. "I remember what you said."

"Uh-huh."

"Barbara, I never stopped loving you either."

She looked up and gave me a wonderful smile. A little light turned back on in her eyes. "I know, Tommy. You can't turn off over ten years."

"Barbara, much as I would like to, I know we can't go back. You offered to be my friend again. I want to work towards that. Maybe one day, that might grow again, but for now, I want my best friend back. I missed you so much, and I want to be able to talk to you and bicker, and all the things we used to do."

"I've missed that too."

"I have plans. We're selling Belgravia. I'm not even going back there. We're going to buy three apartments, somewhere by the river. One for me, one for Peter and one for Mother or Judith to use when they're in London."

"That's exciting. Whereabouts?"

"I don't know yet. Peter wants something modern, so perhaps one of the new developments around Vauxhall. That's still close to the city."

"You're not going back to Howenstowe?"

"No. I want to stay in London."

"Yeah, makes sense." She looked at me. I knew she understood. I wanted to be closer to her.

"I haven't had a drink since I came here."

"Tommy, I don't need to..."

"Yes, you do. I want you to know everything. I'll tell you anything, but I won't burden you with it. But you need to know that I have found, if not peace, then equilibrium. I don't need a drink. I don't need a crutch. The thought of drinking like that again abhors me. I can live with what happened with Helen now. I am working through my guilt about what I did to you."

Barbara slid closer on the bench. We weren't touching, but I took her gesture as a positive sign. "Tommy. It took me a long time, but I forgive you."

I closed my eyes for fear that if I looked at her, I would cry like a child. I sniffed loudly. "Thank you."

Barbara shuffled closer. Our legs touched and we both tensed then relaxed. "I always understood, but it hurt. Seeing you like this, I could so easily let you fall back into my life... into my bed. But I can't do that. Not yet. Not until I'm sure that you'll never do that again. It would destroy me."

I took the chance to put my arm on the back of the bench. "I know. Will you give me the chance to earn that trust?"

Barbara closed her eyes. "Tommy. I need a few minutes. Wait here. Don't follow me."

"Barbara?"

"It's okay, Tommy."

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise. Five minutes."

I sat and watched the lake. The conversation had gone better than I thought until Barbara had left. I struggled to think what I had said or why. I had tried not to push, not to be possessive. To give her an opportunity to come into my space rather than push myself into hers. I could understand why asking her to trust me would take time, but her sudden disappearance caught me off guard.

"Tommy."

I smiled. She had come back. "Toilet break?"

"No."

I turned to face her. "Good Lord."

"This is Edward."

Hiding behind her legs was a gorgeous little boy dressed in jeans and jacket vaguely reminiscent to one I used to wear. A floppy mop of dark hair tumbled over big brown eyes. "He's...?"

"Yes. That's why I had to leave you, Tommy. I had to protect our child."

I knelt down beside Edward. "Hello, Edward." I extended my hand. He was staring at me, and I wondered if he recognised me in some way. He took my finger with one and held it, but his other hand gripped Barbara's jeans.

"His full name is Edward Thomas Lynley Havers. I mainly call him Teddy." She bent down and ruffled his hair, pushing his errant lock over his ear like she had done to me so many times. "Because you're my little teddy bear, aren't you?"

"May I hold him?"

"Yes, but he's very shy. It might be better if we sit on the bench."

Barbara lifted Teddy up and carried him to the seat. I sat, and she put the boy down next to me then sat beside him. Teddy turned to his mother and cuddled into her. "Mum-mum."

I had never known a love quite like the one I felt for Teddy. I put my hand lightly on his shoulder and rubbed his back. He did not shy away. "Did Mother know?"

"Not until this morning. She collected us from the station. She was besotted. She's been minding him while we talked."

"I'm besotted with him. I wish you had told me. How old is he?"

"Nearly twelve months. He can talk a bit when he wants to. They say he's quite intelligent, but with your genes, that's to be expected."

"That'd mean..."

"Yeah, Eastbourne."

Somehow that made this better, and worse. "I'm so sorry, Barbara. You should have said."

"Did you think me throwing up all the time was just in sympathy with you? You were so wrapped up in yourself, you never noticed. My health was suffering from the strain. The doctor was worried I might miscarry. Do you see that I had to leave you? I had to protect him. I still do, Tommy."

I nodded. "I'd never hurt him."

"Not intentionally."

Teddy turned and started to play with the lapel on my jacket. Barbara grinned at me, and I knew I must have had a stupid look on my face. I grinned back. "I want to be part of his life, Barbara. I want to be his father."

"You will be, so long as... well, you know my terms."She was smiling. I knew she was relieved that I was happy. Both of us had been hiding too much.

"You could both come over to my new flat for playdates."

"Tommy!"

I shrugged. I had meant it innocently, but the idea of having her in my bed again had enormous appeal. Teddy climbed onto my lap. I gently put my arms around my son and hugged him. When two little arms wrapped around my neck, I started to cry. Barbara moved up next to me, and I put my arm around her and pulled her close then kissed her gently on the top of her head.

"Thank you, Barbara."

"For what?"

"For saving my life again, for Teddy, for being willing to be my friend and..."

"And?"

"For giving me hope that, in time, we might be more. I do have that, don't I?"

She snuggled into me. "We both do."


End file.
